


A Different Kind of Ether Intake

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F, Lactation, Masturbation, PWP, morag keeps her uniform on cuz brighid tells her to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Brighid makes Mòrag take a break from some paperwork.





	A Different Kind of Ether Intake

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhh i blame my filthy enablers for this one

“How is the paperwork coming along?”

“Terribly.”

That sounds about right. Being saddled with extra work piled upon the work that’s already been done during the day had been taking its toll on Mòrag’s temperament. Brighid can see it in the way she’s hunched over the desk, foot tapping against the floor, fingers absentmindedly running through her undone hair. She’s so restless. 

On top of that, Brighid is _bored._

Bored enough to have stripped naked quite a while ago and leisurely stretch out on the bed, waiting to see exactly how long it would take for Mòrag to notice. 

It’s been about half an hour, give or take. Mòrag hasn’t looked up from that never-ending slew of paperwork even once; her diligence is commendable, but her awareness leaves room for improvement. Or, maybe she did notice. Maybe she’s just ignoring her. What a terrible thought. Brighid makes a point of loudly sighing, but all she gets is a vague inquiry if she’s tired and if so, she should turn in early. 

At this rate she’ll be too annoyed to do anything by the time Mòrag finally gives up on the paperwork. But just as Brighid begins to contemplate giving up and going to sleep, Mòrag raises her head. She doesn’t turn around, but. 

“It’s _very_ difficult to concentrate when you’re doing that, Brighid.”

Aha. She should never have doubted Mòrag’s observational skills. “Doing what, exactly?”

“What happened to your clothes?”

“I took them off.”

“Yes, I noticed.” Of course she did. Mòrag runs her hands over her face and puts her pen down. She definitely isn’t going to be able to focus on any of this work, not with Brighid doing… that. 

Architect, she’s literally glowing. Mòrag can feel the excess ether seeping into herself. She sighs. “I'm not going to be getting any work done tonight, am I?”

“Are you complaining?”

“… Not at all, to be honest. I'd actually been hoping for a break.”

Brighid swings her legs over the edge of the bed and beckons with one finger. Obediently, Mòrag approaches and stands before her, hands folded behind her back as Brighid begins to remove the pieces of her uniform. Armor first, then the rest. That’s how it usually goes. 

Once the belt is off and dropped to the floor, Brighid reaches around and grabs Mòrag’s ass with both hands, pleased when she slightly jumps. Mòrag keeps her eyes trained ahead and her back straightened as if she’s meant to be standing to attention, but her breathing is noticeably quicker. Brighid gives her a good squeeze before letting go with a small hum of appreciation.

She makes quick work of removing the pauldron and her coat, next. Though Mòrag remains silent, it’s easy to tell that her fingers are twitching behind her back. 

“Mm, good enough,” Brighid says, tossing the pauldron aside and glancing her over up and down. The uniform is still striking and regal, even when missing parts of the ensemble. “... Keep the rest of it on.”

Mòrag’s brow furrows. She looks down at Brighid. “But…” She’s thinking of the laundry. 

“Do you have something to say, Lady Mòrag?” Brighid is grabbing her ass again, roughly digging her fingertips into the fabric of her pants. Mòrag’s greaves are rattling as her knees tremble in anticipation. Ha, she’s weak, and all Brighid's done is grope her ass.

“I— no. If that’s what you’d like, Brighid.” 

“Good.” She smiles and lies back on the bed, expecting Mòrag to follow. She does. She crawls over Brighid, slowly and carefully as to avoid tearing at the sheets with her boots. Brighid draws in a deep breath and loops her arms around Mòrag’s neck, pulling her face down against her core crystal. 

The ether lines across her body are ablaze beneath her skin. Brighid’s burning her inside and out with the sudden spike in their link, but Mòrag doesn’t seem to mind. Far from it. She traces the glowing marks with her tongue, noting how brightly they radiate. This thing— Brighid accumulating this much ether, enough for the markings to appear, doesn’t happen terribly often, but she _had_ been waiting for nearly half an hour for Mòrag to finally make a move. It's more than likely that she'd been drawing in ether that entire time. 

No longer thinking about either the paperwork or the wrinkles her uniform is going to end up with, Mòrag reaches up to knead at her breasts. She gasps against Brighid’s skin when she feels something warm seep through her gloves, and she looks up from where she’d been licking along the patterns across her stomach. That’s… oh. 

“Are you, er…?” Mòrag gulps. Brighid just smiles and folds one arm behind her head. She gently grabs a loose fistful of Mòrag’s hair, guiding her back up, all relaxed in spite of the surplus of energy washing through them both. Unbelievable. 

Her gloves are damp now. Mòrag fumbles to take them off as quickly as she can as she struggles against Brighid’s insistent pull.

“Brighid. You drew in too much ether again.“

“I don’t see the problem when you’re here to relieve me.” 

She’s so _blasé._ Mòrag wants to feel annoyed, but she can’t. All she can feel is an incredibly overwhelming sort of urge that makes her wish that Brighid had been more patient about taking off the rest of her clothes, because she’s beginning to sweat badly, and she finally tears her eyes away from Brighid’s (smug) face and to her breasts. 

A milky liquid is seeping from her nipples, spilling down her curves and dripping on the sheets. It’s ether… sort of. Probably. Mòrag had been much, much more startled and distraught and confused the first time it had happened, but now she’s just more or less exasperated. Nonetheless, her throat goes dry at the sight.

All this, because she had spent too long on the paperwork. And she didn’t even finish all of it. 

“Well?” Brighid tugs at Mòrag’s hair. “Are you going to drink or not?” 

Yes. Obviously. “Of course.”

But she can’t stop staring. It’s an oddly pretty sight, with her flames illuminating the wetness dripping across her chest. Mòrag tentatively reaches out to take one of her breasts in her hand, kneading and massaging her to draw out more of the ether. It spills out between her fingers in a thick stream. Brighid heaves beneath her touch and yanks harder on her hair, gasping out. 

“Lady Mòrag—“ 

She lowers her face and takes her nipple into her mouth. 

Brighid sharply inhales and her hand slides down to the back of Mòrag’s neck, tangling through her hair. 

The ether is messily gushing into her mouth. Mòrag swallows it all down— it tastes unbelievably _warm_ , that's the only way she can think to describe it— unable to stop drips of it from leaking out beneath her lips with how hastily and eagerly she sucks Brighid. She flicks her tongue over the stiff nub as she drinks, a low groan sounding in the back of her throat in tandem with Brighid’s soft moans, her other hand still coaxing more ether from her other breast. Her sleeves and collar are damp and Brighid’s chest is a soaked mess.

Then, Brighid is petting her head, and Mòrag can practically see that pleased upturn of her lips without actually looking. There’s something oddly demeaning about being petted as she drinks from her Blade’s breast, but the thought only makes her thighs squirm together. Damnit, why is she still wearing her pants and boots? 

Her fingers pass over Brighid’s core crystal and linger there, smearing the wet ether across her. Their link is scorching and each mouthful of ether Mòrag swallows only makes it escalate in intensity. 

Brighid has both hands on Mòrag’s head now, firmly pushing her down harder against her and stroking her hair and face. 

“Touch yourself.”

“Mmhhh?” Mòrag’s eyes snap open and she blearily looks up at Brighid, still diligently suckling and drinking. 

Brighid’s eyes are open as well, just about glaring at Mòrag with intense lust. She pushes Mòrag off of her nipple and pulls her down to her other breast, sleek with wet ether and sore from neglect, sighing in pleasure as Mòrag automatically begins to drink from that one. 

Her uniform is unbearably hot, she offhandedly thinks. She plunges one hand down the front of her pants to aggressively rub at the wetness that had accumulated there, kissing Brighid’s nipple before resuming her suckling. Her fingers, already slick from the ether, easily find their way inside herself.

Brighid tosses her head back and moans, clutching Mòrag’s shoulders as she masturbates while sucking her breast. She can feel every jolt and every shudder of pleasure that runs through Mòrag's body, fanning her own flames. The flow of ether is beginning to come to a stop but Mòrag continues to greedily suckle, letting lose a shuddering groan that goes muffled against Brighid as her fingers make an absolute mess inside her pants— and finally her mouth detaches from Brighid, Mòrag burying her face between her soft breasts as she cums with a quiet intensity and another gasping groan. 

Her hand is still down her pants, fingers twitching inside herself. Brighid strokes the back of her neck, gently smirking as she pushes Mòrag’s face up to look at her without even giving her a few seconds of rest. 

“Again.”

Mòrag tiredly blinks. “What…?”

“You didn’t even finish me off.” Brighid feigns a pout, and licks her lips. 

“A-ah, I didn’t— sorry—“ Flustered and unsure and too tired to think but not tired enough to stop for the night, Mòrag drags her tongue over Brighid’s chest and leaves a trail of wet kisses before finally finding her way back to a nipple. There isn’t much ether left compared to the plentiful mouthfuls she had been receiving before, but when she sucks hard to draw out a few drops, Brighid makes some sort of obscene sound and clutches the back of her uniform. 

“Just like _that—!_ ” she gasps, rocking her hips upwards against Mòrag. “Keep sucking!” 

And fucking, Mòrag presumes, already back to fingering herself in spite of her sensitivity from the aftermath of her first orgasm. She’s clumsier this time, unable to set a rhythm for herself, too focused on working her jaw in order to eagerly suck at Brighid, tongue quickly lapping at her over and over again. Brighid’s close. She can tell. Closer, and closer, she opens her mouth a bit wider and—

 _”Lady Mòrag!_ ”

Brighid is pulling on her hair, hard, arching her back and crying out as she climaxes. Mòrag continues to suck to draw it out as long as possible, deciding to give up on her own second orgasm to free her hand to hold onto Brighid’s body (nevermind how soaked and messy it is, they’re both already a mess anyway), clutching her close as she rides it out.

Her ether markings are finally dimming. She falls back limp against the sheets, panting, her breasts sore and sensitive.

“Would that suffice?” Mòrag asks, also panting. She’s already fumbling with the buttons of her uniform, all too eager to finally free herself from its constrains. 

“Just for tonight,” she laughs and sits up to help her out of the rest of her clothes. No, well, she could probably still go for another round or two. All she has to do is draw in more ether and goad Mòrag along, which shouldn't be too hard once she's properly naked. “We’ll see how much paperwork you have tomorrow.”


End file.
